Longing
by Lixnchains
Summary: Dean's got some control issues, and he likes to work them out on Michelle. Warnings: Smut galore, BDSM, dark Dean


"Look up, Michelle," Dean growled, using his grip on her hair to roughly yank her head off of the mattress. "Open your eyes. I want you to see this. I want you to see me fucking you."

Michelle gasped at the sharp jolt of pain, but her eyes fluttered open obediently, taking in the sight before her. She was on her hands and knees facing the hotel room mirror, and Dean was behind her, one hand wound through her hair and the other one splayed possessively on her hip while he thrust into her almost angrily.

"Yeah," he groaned, fingers tightening reflexively on her skin. "Yeah. Look at you. What a good girl you are, taking it like a little slut, hmm? You are my little slut, aren't you, Michelle? You love it when I use you like this."

It was true, and they both knew it. She never knew when Dean was going to call. It wasn't often that he happened to find himself in the area, but earlier that night, in the middle of one of her graveyard shifts no less, she had heard the familiar ring-tone and had hastily excused herself to the back room.

"H-hello?" she had answered shakily, not daring to let herself believe that it was really him on the other end.

For a second that dragged on for an eternity, she had been met with only silence, until-

"Where are you?"

Her breath had caught in her throat at his low, gravelly voice, and she had glanced out the open door, making sure that she was really alone.

"I'm...I'm at work, Dean," she had almost whispered, feeling a shiver start to creep down her spine. "I can't believe it's really you. How are you?"

She had known full-well that he would blatantly ignore the question, but it calmed her nerves to pretend to go through the formalities.

"I want you here in one hour," he had commanded, the inflexibility clear in his tone. "I'm staying at Quail's Inn. Room 112."

She had shivered again, her breathing already erratic.

"Dean, I'm not off until 5:00," she had responded, again knowing exactly how the conversation would go.

"It's down to 45 minutes, Michelle. You want to keep pushing? You know what happens if you're late."

The threat in his voice had sent a shock of heat through her abdomen, and she couldn't stop the little moan that slipped out through her lips.

"I'll be there," she had purred helplessly into the phone, and that had been that. She knew how their arrangement worked. She didn't get to say no.

And now, after convincing a miffed coworker to cover her last three hours, she was here, with Dean, spread out for him like a prize that he was more than happy to claim.

"Say it, Michelle," he hissed, letting go of her hair to wrap his long fingers around her throat. "Tell me that you're my little slut. Say it and just maybe I'll let you cum tonight."

Her cheeks flushed red as she met his gaze in the mirror.

"I-I'm your little, slut, Dean. I'm all yours. Please. Please let me cum. I'm so close. God, so close."

His thrusts became harder, more punishing, and she let out a little sob, tossing her head to the side desperately.

Before she could resume her begging, his other hand came down hard on her ass, dragging a helpless cry from her throat.

"I said eyes on the mirror," he hissed, punctuating each word with another stinging slip. "Don't make me tell you again."

She snapped her head up at once, forcing herself to look straight ahead while he fucked her mercilessly, and her whole body began to shake as she headed dangerously toward a precipice she knew she couldn't go over without his explicit permission.

"Please," she choked out again. "Dean, I'm-I can't...fuck...please." She was rapidly losing the ability to speak as his grip on her throat tightened, cutting off some of her air.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you," he murmured wickedly, holding her even tighter still.

She gasped wildly, her hands fisting the sheet beneath her.

"I...Dean, ahh, I can't brea-"

But the words died on her lips as she felt a sharp pain on the sensitive stretch of skin between her neck and her shoulder.

Dean, like a striking snake, had bent his broad chest over her back and was biting her, his teeth digging into her flesh as he lessened his hold on her throat just enough to allow her to take a deep, rasping breath.

"God, FUCK," she moaned, remembering to keep her eyes open and her face turned toward her reflection.

Dean seemed to notice and smiled against her skin, sending another rush of heat straight to her groin.

Without meaning to, she found herself furiously thrusting her hips back to meet him, and he growled in approval, letting go with his teeth to flick his tongue across the affected area.

"You want to cum, my little pet?" he breathed against her ear, and she felt her body convulsing with need.

"Yes. Please. Please let me cum," she sobbed, straining with the effort to keep herself from release, and he straightened up again, his hands grabbing her hips with bruising strength.

He pulled out until only the tip of his dick remained inside her, and then, without warning, he slammed back into her with such force that she collapsed onto the mattress, trying hopelessly to push herself up again under his weight.

His hand found her hair again, twisting her head up uncomfortably in a silent order for her to keep her eyes on the mirror despite her new position, and she struggled to comply, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

His thrusts were becoming erratic, now, and there was a thin sheen of sweat covering his upper body. Michelle knew his tells. She knew how close he was, and that knowledge made her even more desperate. After three or four more heavy thrusts, he threw his head back wildly, his fingernails digging into her hips in a way that she knew would leave marks.

"Cum, NOW," he ordered, his voice low and dangerous, and in the next moment, her orgasm crashed through her, white-hot and almost painful in it's crushing intensity. Her entire body seized up, and she heard his snarl as he spilled his hot seed deep inside her, the sensation drawing out her own spasms even further.

After the aftershocks began to fade, he pulled out half-heartedly, slumping down onto the bed beside her.

"Jesus. Fucking jesus, Michelle," he murmured, dragging his fingers down the back of her neck. "Sometimes I wish that I could just take you out of this godforsaken town, take you with me when Sammy and I hit the road again. Keep you at my beck and call...mmm...wouldn't that be nice..."

He trailed off, and Michelle had to bite her lip to keep from saying, "You can, Dean. I'd follow you anywhere. Don't you know that?"

She'd wanted to say it so many times before, but she knew he didn't mean it. She knew that he wouldn't, couldn't, give her anything more than this. Anything more than these stolen moments once in a god-damned blue moon.

It didn't mean that she was any less in love with him, but she would never say it. She would never burden him with that.

He sighed blissfully, his fingers finding the bite marks on her skin.

"I'm not leaving for a few days," he said, pressing the pad of his thumb against the bruise. "I'm coming by the diner tomorrow, and you'd better not be wearing anything to cover this up. You hear me?"

She leaned into his touch ever-so-slightly and smiled up and him, her stomach already tied in knots as she thought about losing him. Again.

"You know I won't be," she whispered, curling her legs up to her chest, and he hummed in satisfaction, eyes already closing in exhaustion.

"Get some sleep, little one," he said, reaching down to pull the comforter over them. "Tomorrow's a new day."

She didn't respond, but she closed her eyes obediently as she snuggled closer to his warm body, knowing that she wouldn't be sleeping even for a minute.

No, she wouldn't let herself miss even a moment.

Not one breath. Not one little sound. Not a single moment.


End file.
